Owlette
by UnstableDread
Summary: After the events of Crisis on Two Earths, the Crime Syndicate has been defeated, and Batman is still recovering from the events. How will he fare when he discovers that one of his greatest foes, thought to be dead, had miraculously survived and is now seeking revenge againt the man who foiled everything? And how will they react when a mysterious girl decides to get involved?
1. Chapter 1

**Unfortunately, I don't own the DC universe, and have no rights to its characters, as they do not belong to me. **

**This story is set after the events of Crisis on Two Earths. You may consider it AU, if you'd like. Yes, it does involve an OC as an original character, and this may develope into an OCxCanon, depending on how I feel about it. I am a busy person, and may noy update often, which is why there is a review button to help build author motivation! Reviews are greatly appreciated. Let me know how you like the story! Now, why isn't this in the Justice League category? Because this story is pretty much going to be strictly Batman and his villains, even if some of the events, such as the Crisis on Two Earths itself, involve the Justice League. The League, however, will not be put directly into action in this fanfiction. **

* * *

"It doesn't matter."

It was believed to be the last thing he would ever say. His voice was dark and grim as the twisted thoughts that swirled within his mind. The world around him was a vast, desolate wasteland, devoid of life, and devoid of purpose. The sky was dark, and the air was cold and painful. It tasted foul as he breathed it in, the last breath he would ever take. The land was mute. Silence enveloped him. For once, in that single moment, there was peace. Then the earth shook. The ground crumbled. A brilliant light exploded out to swallow the land in an intense heat. Owlman felt the flames roll around him, licking his unprotected chin and burning through his armor. It was never made to withstand such direct heat. The earth shattering boom set his ears ringing, and his head pounding. It was all he could hear. All he could understand.

_It doesn't matter._

The images of his family rose. His father, Thomas Wayne, stood tall, but his once proud face was now solemn. Upon his chest, his badge shone brilliantly. Like a star. Beside him, Martha, his mother, clutching his arm with eyes wide with fear. Then his brother, little Bruce Wayne, his deep gaze narrowed into a piercing, hateful glare. The death of two of them replayed in his head. The sound of the gun, and their screams filled his mind. The shouting of the other, his father, and his own, pitiful sobs, as the pair suffered. But one seemed to be suffering more than the other. And there was a feral rage in his eyes as he glared up at his father. Thomas Wayne Junior blamed his father for it all, and he would never stop hating that man.

_It doesn't matter._

_Nothing matters._

His mind screamed over the inferno. His heart was still beating. Why was it still beating? Death should have been instantaneous. His eyes were shut tight, but the light still pierced his lids. Its flickering orange glow began to change to a more solid form, a firm white. The heat was fading to an icy cold. The ringing in his ears stopped, replaced by the sound of a whistling breeze, and the trickle of water. The soft, hoot of an owl soothed him. He recognized the call immediately. It was a Great Horned Owl, a magnificent avian, and one he found inspiration from. Where were the flames? Where was the Reaper's cold embrace? Owlman breathed. His chest rose, shuttering as a terrible pain engulfed his side. He held his breath, struggling not to move with the stabbing agony that he recognized as broken ribs. What else was broken? What terrible wounds had been burned into his flesh?

_I'm not dead._

Nothing made sense. Nothing added up. He was supposed to be dead. The bomb had gone off, it had destroyed the very ground he had stood upon just seconds earlier. Now he lay on his back, struggling to breathe with the pain of his injuries, impossibly alive. Explanations flooded his mind. Why? How could he have survived the blast? Owlman narrowed his theories to the most logical one. He deduced that someone must have rescued him. Owlman couldn't have been alone. Someone must have arrived at the last possible second, and they must have teleported him here, to a place he did not yet recognize, with his senses so ruined as they were. He tried to open his eyes, tried to peel his lids apart to view his new surroundings. His body would not cooperate. It shook in defiance, and his head throbbed and clouded suddenly with the simple action. Owlman gave up. He couldn't do it. His own limbs refused to cooperate, and his mind could not recognize his needs.

_It doesn't matter._

He tried to say it out loud, to reassure himself. To know that he still had a voice. Only a moan slipped past his lips. Exhaustion took hold of his body and mind, and Owlman had no strength left to fight it. It was all he could do to give in and sleep. The pain began to lighten and the hoots of the Great Horned Owl lulled him to a dream land he had never dared to explore before.

* * *

It was over. The Crime Syndicate had been defeated. Justice had prevailed. But there was so much left to do, and so much more to fix. It wasn't the league's job, but Batman still recognized the heavy burden that the other world would have to face. A burden had grown in his own world as well. The league had, as they usually did after some great crisis, broken down. Superman had been silenced. Martian locked himself in his room to meditate. Wonder Woman walked about with a scowl and Hawkgirl had grown cold. Green Lantern was the only one whose attitude hadn't seemed to have changed much, but he was always deep in thought. It was standard procedure. In time, the wounds would heal, and the league would grow close again, ready to take on another apocalypse. But not all relationships would be mended by normal means.

Flash had grown distant. Batman knew why. He knew Flash couldn't so much as look at him without glaring, and in the meeting that took place after the Crisis events, one would even say his glare surpassed Batman's own. It was intense, the complete opposite of what he league was used too. The speedster had officially made Batman his enemy. After what he had done, who could blame him? The whole league now regarded him in a darker tone. Johnny Quick's sacrifice had been necessary, however. Even if the young man had been tricked out of his life, Batman could only remember thinking that he could not allow Flash to carry out the task. Despite what the speedster might think sometimes, he was a valuable member of the league, and due to former events, Batman knew the league couldn't afford to lose him. But someone had to take the fall, and if not Flash, than his criminal counterpart. Perhaps the plan had been cruel. Perhaps cheating the young man out of his future had been cold and heartless. But was there even a future left for him anyway?

Batman narrowed his eyes and sighed. His eyes burned as they looked up at the massive computer screen, lighting up the darkness of the cave. The dwelling bats were his only companions, so late in the night. His fingers moved in a blur across the keys. Killer Croc was lurking in Gotham's sewers, praying on the unwary. Though Batman tried to track him, his thoughts were consistently distracting. He couldn't think straight, and his head ached.

"Damn." He propped his arms up on the desk and rested his head in the palms of his hands, gently rubbing his eyes with his thumbs.

It was exhausting. Being a billionaire by day and a vigilante by night left little time for sleep and relaxation, little time to tend to his injuries, and most of all, little time to simply think. If it wasn't for his faithful butler and surrogate father, Alfred, Batman would likely be dead by now. It was a miracle he had survived this long anyway. Hell, how did he even manage to survive at all? Some would say he was the best of the heroes, but at times, he felt like the worst. He wasn't fast like Flash, or strong like Superman, but his willpower was unmatched by any man, powers or none. He was even known as the world's greatest detective. Gotham's Dark Knight. It could all be a bit overwhelming. Working with such powerful beings to save the world nearly every week of his life, and usually being the key to it all. The one that was always ten steps ahead, as the league often described. They relied heavily on him, he knew.

The computer screen flickered in alarm, and Batman looked up at the sudden noise. Thieves in the Gotham Bank. It was a never-ending fight to keep the criminals off the street. Batman's already grim features darkened. There would be little more time for brooding. He snatched up his cowl from the desk and pulled it over his face, and the white slits that replaced his eyes narrowed into the sharp daggers that made even the strongest men cower. The Batmobile roared to life, before settling into a quieter rumble, and The Batman once more disappeared into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**So yeah, I again want to stress that I obviously don't own DC or have any rights toward it. Enjoy the chapter. **

* * *

Four months ago, The Justice League had gone to war. Upon return, it still raged. Oddly enough, no other crisis had come along; Batman might even consider his extended time from apocalyptic events a vacation. Most of his villains were locked in Arkham, though many were no doubt planning for their next escape. Batman, or rather, Bruce Wayne, had made some helpful donations in an effort to upgrade the mental facility. It would take the inmates some time before they figure a way past the new security. Batman found himself dealing with petty criminals nearly every night. The occasional psychopath would show his face every now and then, but nothing Batman couldn't handle.

Surprisingly, his routine patrol of Gotham's darker side turned up hardly anything at all. Either all the criminals were sleeping or they were just too frightened to venture out without one of the more well-known villains keeping Batman's attention.

**_"_**_Criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot."_

Batman had said those words often before, and now he found them running through his mind. His gaze narrowed, staring out over the streets below. He stood upon the edge of a flat roof, slick with the rain that had showered Gotham earlier in the night. The moon shone with pale, ominous light behind the dark clouds, throwing eerie shadows across the city. The gentle rumble of distant thunder foretold the passing of a new storm in the near future. Batman never enjoyed a night in the rain, and it didn't seem as if much would be happening later in the night. As morning drew near, the alleys had remained silent, and the bat signal was still dark.

He turned, flicking up his wrist to press a button on his gauntlet. A near silent beep rose for a second into the air before the gadget responded, setting the Batmobile on a course for his position. Warm droplets of water assailed his powerful frame as a sudden gale tore at his black cape. It flapped dramatically behind him. The all too familiar rumble of the Batmobile drew closer, when it was interrupted by a strange sound. The hoot of a Great Horned Owl.

Batman glanced up, searching for the creature. He found it perched on a rooftop across from him, predatory eyes sharp and focused. If it was even possible to lock eyes with an animal, Batman had just managed it. The two glared at each other for a few moments before the Batmobile screeched to a stop on the street below, and the nocturnal bird of prey, with a mighty flap of its wings, rose into the sky before Batman could react. It quickly became nothing more than a distant shadow.

_Gotham doesn't see birds like that often. _

He wished he would have put a tracker on the thing. It was unlikely that the bird had strayed into the city. Batman immediately suspected Penguin, but the devilish man was locked securely in Arkham. Perhaps he had found some way to control his birds from inside the asylum? Batman pondered paying the man a visit, but he didn't have enough proof. Perhaps, in the future, he would catch site of the bird again, and perhaps, it would be doing something a lot more incriminating than simply sitting atop an empty warehouse. Then he could confront Penguin.

Batman reached for his cape, holding tightly as he made a leap off the building. He glided easily down toward the Batmobile and climbed in, deep in thought. He'd drive slow, and be vigilant. It would still be a few more hours before light began seeping into the sky, and with darkness shrouding Gotham's more dangerous streets, one could never predict what might happen next.

* * *

The girl looked about twenty six or so. She sat in the protective shadow of a dumpster in one of Gotham's many alleys, staring absent mindedly ahead towards the crumbling brick wall of an old café that closed years ago. The city had never bothered tearing it down, along with most of the Gotham slums.

_Who am I?_

She often found herself wondering. She didn't know who she was. Abandoned as young as she had been, the streets and foster home were all she knew. Sure, they had a name for her back at the home, but she never cared to acknowledge it. It wasn't her name. Not her _real_ one, anyway. Did her parents ever actually give her a name? She couldn't remember that they did, but then, she never really was good at remembering things anyway. She knew how to survive, and that was important, nothing else ever really interested her. She had hated the foster home, and ran off the first chance she had gotten. That had been years ago, and she preferred life on the streets. She felt free, roaming Gotham. Learning how to hold her own against those that would seek to harm her, as she had been harmed in many ways before, and learning the art of free running and stealth so that she could swipe food from a street side stand or steal warm clothes from an apartment on the seventh floor.

She had always been a bit of a trouble maker. Had a record. Would probably never have a future anyway. Her parents had probably thought the same. That was probably why they had left her on the curb and ran. It didn't matter, though. She was alive, and she knew how to stay alive. That was all she needed. Her past, she could throw away. It didn't matter. Her dreams, she could discard. They'd never come true. All that was important was the present, and how she managed to not just survive in it, but thrive in it.

Sure, it was tough. She'd always find someone stronger or faster than her. Always would be challenged by someone smarter than her. But her failures made her stronger, and she learned from her mistakes quickly, and rarely made the same one twice, because on the streets of Gotham, you only had one chance. She knew Batman had never been around when she had needed him, and she knew he wasn't likely to show up and save the day in the future, either.

_Why am I here?_

Gotham was such a terrible place. A place where not a single step went unnoticed and every breath was an insult to the people around you. A place where a second of eye contact could result in death. A place where every man was for himself, corrupted by wealth and power. They all had names for themselves. Black Mask and Rupert Thorne were good examples. And then there was the high and powerful Bruce Wayne, who sat upon his pedestal at the top of the hill. She had never saw Bruce Wayne in slums of Gotham like the other two, however, but that didn't place him in any higher standard. He was rich, and he was famous, and so he too, was on her corrupted lords list. They were all the same, as far as she was concerned.

She wasn't like them. She didn't have an image. She was a simple, skinny white girl with long, tangled brown hair and dark brown eyes. She didn't have the sleek and groomed look of the more powerful people. She was lanky, not buff and handsome. Her chin was too square for the roundness of her forehead, and her bones stuck out. She didn't have a name because she didn't need one. No one would ever remember her. No one would care when she died. Although she often took to the name of Owlette. She had made the name up one night when she had seen an owl fly overhead. The magnificent bird had immediately caught her attention, as it dove in to pluck a mouse from the dumpster, it talons razor sharp and gleaming. Owlette had been her alias ever since. Who needed a real name, anyway? She thought the name suited her, and her passion for birds. If only she had wings, so she could fly like the owl had, with grace and power. Owlette smiled. She could see herself with wings, soaring above the rooftops.

It took her a moment to realize she was drifting off. Her lids had grown heavy, and her vision was blurred with exhaustion. Her muscles had relaxed in the time she had taken to rest, and she didn't want to stir them again. They ached from her weeks of near constant action. The moon was grinding against the horizon. Soon, the sun would rise. If she was going to sleep, she might as well get in a few hours before her usual hunt for breakfast. Owlette leaned against the dumpster and sighed. She didn't feel like moving, and she was already used to the stench of the garbage. She decided to simply doze where she was, somewhat hidden from unfriendly eyes. Her eyes were starting to close when she heard it. Heavy footsteps, coming down the alley she had been relaxing in.

A shadow emerged at the alley's end, stalking closer to her position. Had she been spotted yet? Owlette didn't want to risk exposing herself, but as the person, who she quickly discovered to be a rather heavy set, older man, drew dangerously near, she decided to bolt. Owlette slipped hastily from her position, twisting blindly around the dumpster to sprint for the opposite side of the alley. She slammed into something hard before she could reach her second step. The painful impact knocked her backwards, to the ground, and she looked up to discover another man staring down at her, a smirk planted across his lips. Owlette hadn't noticed him before.

"Wow!" He whistled to himself. "I can't believe my luck." His voice was deep and rough, and his tone, while delighted, possessed a malicious ring. The other man closed in to cover her escape route.

"She practically leapt into our hands." The first man commented darkly, his rotten teeth catching the dim light of the moon as he smiled. The second leaned in, drawing a knife from his sleeve.

"Guess we'd better count our blessings." The second chuckled as the first snatched up her arm.

_No! I gotta get away!_

Owlette hissed as she whirled on the man who had grabbed her, and kicked him square in the crotch.

* * *

**Oh dear, I seem to have ended with a cliff hanger. Guess you'll just have to wait for the next chapter to find out what happens too Owlette! :D**


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